


Profondo Blu

by sunaddicted



Series: Riddlebird Week 2k18 [4]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Body Horror, Curses, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Merpeople, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Riddlerbird Week 2k18, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 08:32:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14912013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: Edward frowned at the unsatisfactory answer “This is not a fairy tale”“You're right, it's a horror story”





	Profondo Blu

_ Profondo Blu  _

It had all begun with a graceless plunge in the freezing and fetid waters of the harbour and the mercy of a bullet that had ruptured the air next to his head instead of tearing its way through his skull, brain stuttering to a halt because of the cold rather than because it was dripping out of a hole in the middle of his forehead.  

James Gordon had spared him - it sounded like a joke.  

_ It was a joke _ . 

His life hadn't been spared at all but he doubted that Jim knew that.  

Oswald had always suspected that there was something viscerally wrong with Gotham - something dark with a life of its own that dwelled even in the best people and fed upon their light, until only carved out souls were left behind: hollow shrines to an unknown malady; a sickness of the mind and the spirit that crept upon the unsuspecting citizens and possessed them like a demon, nurtured in the humid cavities of the human body like an asymptomatic tumor. 

Maybe he had been swayed a little by his mother's old tales, bloody stories from dear old Europe about raped sleeping beauties and evil queens dancing to death into burning-hot iron shoes - but it seemed so unlikely that so much insanity thrived only in Gotham, especially when the neighbouring cities harboured a fairly standard share of criminals. 

That and he had immediately realised that his body was different when he re-emerged with a great gasp from the murky sea, uselessly inhaling air that didn't inflate his lungs because of the obscenely gaping gills at the side of his neck.  

He was reborn a  _ monster _ .  

At the beginning, Oswald had been way too concerned with survival to worry about what had happened to him - to grasp the enormity of the change that had twisted his core, cruelly torn away from his marrow anything that had made him human to turn him into a hybrid creature of legends. He had cared only about dragging himself out of the water, putting something in his grumbling stomach that - judging from the terrifying noises it made - was trying to digest itself and running back to Gotham: back to home, back to his poor mother, back to his life of crime.  

He had projects, an empire to build.  

And an old curse that had taken a hold of him wasn't going to make his life crumble like a pathetic castle of cards. 

Oswald Cobblepot was a  _ survivor  _ and the thirst for power was a much more  _ vicious  _ motivator.  

At some point, once things had calmed down and he had finally sat upon his rightful throne, Oswald had obviously investigated his condition - had tried to understand the limits of his new body, hellbent on exploiting the unfortunate situation at its best; he hadn't hidden himself into an obscure corner of the library to search for the origins of the curse, though: he didn't really care and, deep down, he knew that there wasn't a cure - that something so old and powerful couldn't be undone. 

Oswald let his imagination run wild as he bathed in salted water, trembling fingers running along the iridescent scales that covered the lower half of his body - a tail just as crippled as his bad leg, part of the fin gnarled by thick scar tissue. It only made sense that he had been turned into some kind of sea monster: at its dawn, Gotham had been a fishermen’s village and someone was bound to have pissed off a witch or a mermaid that had taken a liking to stupid land-dwellers, pushing them to seek revenge for their shattered hearts.  

It always was Love that birthed the greatest tragedies, wasn't it?

At least, it had always seemed to be true for Oswald - no matter how hard he had tried to shut Love out of his life in a vain attempt at protecting himself, the pesky feeling had wormed its way back into his heart time and time again. 

It haunted and taunted him, dangled under his nose everything he had ever wanted only to cruelly take it away when his fingertips had almost been able to grasp it: Love always left him empty-handed and destroyed.  

Both his greatest weakness and his greatest strength, it bound him to fall and rise from his ashes in an eternal purgatory. 

Oswald wondered when he would be done paying for his sins, even as he added more and more to his list - blood always dripping fresh from his fingers, leaving stains that never washed away: there was no redemption for him, no opportunity for it when he had to survive in Gotham. 

He was the King of the Damned and the city his circus, a small scale Hell upon the earth that he ruled with the ability of a ringmaster.  

Still, when he had looked in the warm brown eyes of a man that had been almost choked to death for him, Oswald had deluded himself that he could be happy: Edward had never looked more beautiful with his hair in disarray and a collar of plum-hued bruises around his neck, sacrifice had turned him into a god - a personal divinity that Oswald would worship faithfully, trapped in desperate awe.  

For a moment, Oswald had forgotten about his misfortune: he should have known that it wouldn't have lasted, that his love wouldn't be requited because why would a god want him?

And when another shot had rung again for him on the pier, Oswald had looked down at himself to watch the quick spreading of blood on his white shirt - roses that had bloomed out of violence, a crime of  _ passion _ . 

Oswald tightened his fingers on Edward's lapels, knuckles turning a bloodless white with the effort of holding onto the other man: if he was going down, so was Edward - and he would tear his soul from his marrow, let the curse make them both the same. 

After all, there must have been a reason why history was repeating itself. 

_ Do you believe in fate? _

The seagulls shrieked as they fell into the water with a cacophonous splash, Oswald's sea-green irises looking at Edward with desperate determination, a scream tearing its way out of his trachea as his body changed; not even the excruciating  pain of the transformation - of the monster making confetti of his human skin to emerge - was enough to force him to loosen his grip on the other man. 

Edward's eyes widened at the sight, a mix of horror and curiosity filling them to the brim: Oswald looked terrifying and glorious, a mysterious inbetweener - inhuman. Edward dug his nails into suddenly impenetrable skin as his lungs burned up and his brain tried to persuade him to  _ breathe _ -

_ He needed to breathe.   _

The water rushed down his esophagus, so fast that Edward didn't even have the time to take in its foul taste - it burned too much, it made every single muscle in his body scream and his heart thumped so hard and fast that blood vessels broke and spilled inwards and Oswald was looking at him - 

_ He was looking at him.   _

Nobody ever really looked at Edward, everyone always dismissed him so easily - even after he'd killed and shouted for attention, even standing in the snow in front of James Gordon with a gun pointed to his head.. even then he'd been overlooked, labelled as insane and tossed into Arkham, lumped together with  _ ordinary folly  _ when he was anything but.  

He eased his grip on Oswald's skin: he was dying and he wanted to look at the other man, imprint on his lowering eyelids the ethereal beauty of a transformed face that peered back at him from familiar and unchanged sapphires that shone with sea-green undertones.  

Edward could pinpoint the exact moment when he died.  

Only that he didn't die.  

_ He drowned.  _

And when Oswald tugged him up towards the surface, his gills gaped in a silent scream of anguish even as his tail naturally flapped in the water, following the other man “What have you done to me?”

“Nothing” Oswald answered, reverent fingers fluttering along the violent-red and damp edges of Edward's gills, travelling down to fondle the dorsal fins of a vibrant lime green that almost faded into yellow and ending just over the emerald scales scattered over what had once been Edward's hips “The city did this to you” Oswald clarified, tentatively brushing their tails together “The curse made you like me”

“The curse?”

Oswald shrugged “Poison. Mutation.  Call it however you like” He had never bothered to find a proper definition for what had happened to him - to  _ them _ . 

_ He finally wasn't alone any longer.  _

“What am I?” Edward looked down at his webbed hands, part of his brain horrified at the sight while the other one gazed at the surplus skin in hunger and wished to tear it apart, put it under a microscope and  _ understand.   _

“A merman" 

Edward frowned at the unsatisfactory answer “This is not a fairy tale”

“You're right, it's a horror story”

“Don't heroes die at the end of those?”

Oswald arched an eyebrow and tugged at one of Edward's fins, bringing the other's attention back to his transformation “We're not the heroes, are we?”

_ They were the monsters.  _

“And what do monsters do at the end?” Edward inquired, shivering as he felt Oswald's tail brush against his own, sliding together like amorous snakes - clinging to one another. 

“They kiss”

As Oswald tugged him down into the dark and welcoming depths of the sea, Edward knew that he was supposed to be angry about something: he'd come to the pier to extract his revenge, to take Oswald's life for his dead lover. But the other's lips were pressing against his own and suddenly he couldn't remember the way she had tasted or why he'd been so enamoured with her - not when Oswald had always stood by his side, a constant source of outpouring love and support that he had ignored only because he'd been scared to give himself to the other man.  

Oswald was  _ all-consuming  _ and Edward couldn't lose himself even before reaching the end of his journey to find out who he really was - who dwelled in the depths of tar-black soul.  

Now they were the same.  

_ Monsters.   _

And they kissed at the end - victorious.   

**Author's Note:**

> I love merpeople


End file.
